


on the radio

by orphan_account



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen, Secret Identity Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5290307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette makes a promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the radio

What do you think Ladybug likes to do for fun?’ Alya asks. 

She is lying facedown, arms spread-eagled on the carpet of Marinette’s room. Her laptop is open in front of her, the screen shows an unfinished blog post. Alya rolls over and looks up to where Marinette is sketching on her bed.

‘I mean—she’s close to our age, right? Do you think she likes doing things girls our age do?’

Marinette finds her breath becoming short, ‘I, uh. I don’t know? She likes protecting Paris, probably, or, wait no, definitely. I guess?’ Alya gives her a look, ‘Well, she likes helping people—maybe she volunteers at a soup kitchen or a cat rescue—actually, nevermind, it would be a dog rescue,’ Marinette finishes lamely.

She has complicated feelings about cats.

‘You know what you make her sound like, right? One of those celebrities who only put down hobbies that make themselves look good!’ Alya wrests herself back up to stare at her laptop, ‘We once had a neighbor who always had National Geographic magazines and you know what? They were always the same ones. They were placeholders. I don’t think he ever read one of them!’

‘Everyone keeps up appearances for a reason,’ Marinette says without thinking. She counts the stitches in her sweater, trying to control her nerves.

Alya stabs the ‘o’ key on her laptop watching as they run across the screen, ‘I know. She’s just—she’s more than that? And this—this is just a speculative post! God, I don’t even know her. I just harass her with a camera and then post this shit on the internet.’ She slams the laptop shut, ‘She probably hates it.’

Marinette comes off the bed and down to where Alya is, ‘I mean… I can’t speak for her. I’m not her. Obviously.’ Marinette wonders what cruel god gave her the gift to speak, ‘But she never seems unhappy in the videos I see. She smiles a lot.’ Marinette places a hand on her friend’s shoulder and Alya looks at her. Her eyes are red.

Alya leans into Marinette, ‘I wish I knew her. Like really knew her.’ Marinette’s heart sits as a stone in her gut. ‘I want to say thank you because she gave me something that really inspired me. Like, she was what made me realized I wanted to tell stories. Not tabloid bullshit, just like world this is someone you should know and care about.’

Marinette lets out a shaky breath, blinking back her tears. Alya looks at her over her shoulder, ‘Girl, you are not allowed to cry. This is my sappy heart crap.’

‘God—um, I’m just… living vicariously through you or something. I’m feeling your feelings.’ Marinette laughs. Her insides swirl in awe at her beautiful friend and in the guilt that swallows words that she cannot say.

Alya snorts, her brown face stained with tears and snot, ‘Get your own damn feelings! These are mine.’

Marinette sighs dramatically, ‘Alya, I need a break from my Adrien feelings sometimes. If I only felt my emotions all the time, my heart would explode and I’d never sleep!” She reaches over and grabs the tissues, offering the box to Alya. Alya takes one, blowing into it and sounding like a trumpet. Marinette cannot help but roll over giggling. Everything seems intense and silly all at once.

Alya smacks her lightly and smiles, ‘I’m your goddamn feelings fairy. I guess it’s only right you return the favor from time to time.’ She takes a another tissue and begins to wipe the tears from Marinette’s face.

‘I wonder if I’ll meet her—as she is, I mean,’ Alya says quietly. Marinette winces as Alya wipes the tissue over her eyes, ‘Maybe I’ll be in grad school, working part-time for some offbeat podcast like Radiolab and she will just turn up at my door. Like, just, Here I am. Ready for you to tell my story.’

Alya pauses and looks at Marinette, who can only smile, ‘You can always ask her. Like, propose an interview ten or fifteen years down the road, when new superheroes have emerged and people only remember her fondly from time to time… maybe then. Maybe—maybe she won’t want everyone in the world to know who she is or all of her secrets, but, maybe, she would let you tell her story. Maybe.’ Marinette knows that this is all she can offer her friend.

Her best friend tries to laugh away maybes of the future, ‘I don’t know if she’ll even remember me in fifteen years.’

‘She will.’ This, at least, Marinette can say with certainty. She reaches for Alya’s laptop and plops it in the girl’s lap, ‘Ask her.’

Alya leans her head back onto Marinette’s shoulder, ‘Have we switched places or something? I thought I was supposed to be the one forcing you to do all the courageous shit.’

‘Alya. Don’t forget who the feelings fairy is tonight.’

She sighs and sits up straight, opening her laptop, ‘Alright.’ Marinette can see the intensity building up in Alya’s posture, as she sits poised over the keyboard.

Marinette gets up, stamping her foot to try and get the pins and needles out of it, ‘I’ll go make us some hot chocolate.’

‘Hold marshmallows for me, please!’ Alya is already deep in concentration.

* * *

She stands in the back kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. The clock says it’s closing in on one o’clock.

‘Is that a promise you can keep?’ Her kwami hovers near the window, moonbeams pour in, casting Tikki in a dull red glow. ‘Marinette, the lives of Miraculous users can be unpredictable.’ Her voice is almost sorrowful.

Marinette looks out the window, the stars are lost in light pollution of the Paris skyline. She imagines she can see them anyways. The kettle begins to whistle.  
  
‘We’ll just have to make sure luck stays on our side.’


End file.
